The List
by bambers2
Summary: Dean gives a account of his life to Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates....


_So, dealing with family personal and medical issues I haven't been much in the mood to write fanfic, but as i was chatting with Rae666 and discussing and laughing at all the evil things we do to the boys as writers this idea came to mind, and Rae said i should write it down...so I did...thanks for reading!! bambers;)_

_The List_

Dean stood unmoving amidst an endless sea of cottony soft clouds, staring up at the Pearly Gates. At the moment, the shimmering, golden doorway to Heaven was closed, but somewhere beyond them he could hear harps being plucked as a choir sang Stairway to Heaven.

"Huh, they're expecting me," he chuckled. A certain amount of serenity filled his weary heart as he trudged the final few steps and stood before Saint Peter.

"Name and occupation, please," Saint Peter said, as he eyed Dean up and down through wire-rimmed glasses. With an angelic smile and wings spread wide, fanning softly in the breeze, Peter looked about as intimidating as Snuggles the fabric softener bear. But in Dean's line of work, he knew looks were often deceiving, and was on his guard the moment the heavenly figure pulled a quill from his wings to write with.

"Dean Winchester, Fictional Demon Killer Extraordinaire," he said without the slightest hesitation.

"Think awful highly of yourself don't you?" Peter tsked, and scribbled down something on the piece of parchment paper that suddenly appeared in his powerful looking hands.

"Sorry, it's the way I'm written, so who am I to argue." He forced a smile as the angel scrawled several more notes about him down on the page.

"The reason you stand before me is to give an account of your life, and then I shall determine if the gates of Heaven will open for you," the angel went on to say as he gestured toward the massive gates beside him. "So, explain to me why you think you deserve to be here instead of the molted melting pot below?"

Dean thought about the question for a moment, and then eyed the paper in the angel's hand. "Okay, but you'll probably need more paper, an' this will probably take a while."

"That's alright, I have all the time in the world." The angel smiled pleasantly, and took a seat in an ornate golden chair that miraculously appeared out of thin air. "Proceed," he said with a wave of his hand.

"It's really kinda hard to know where to begin." Dean scratched his head, and felt raised scar beneath his scruffy hair. He smiled. "From every story that has ever been written about me, I would have to say that I have well over 87,368 scars on various parts of my body." He felt heat rise to flush his face. "87,420 if you count the writers who've chosen to scar my ass. Apparently they find it funny to write about Sammy stitching it up as I chug down tons of beer."

Saint Peter tapped the page with his quill as he bit at his lower lip, and then wrote down what Dean had said. "I guess I'll allow that. Go on."

"By my best calculations, while saving people from various evil creatures, I've been thrown into 15, 989 walls, and have been tossed down 17, 234 stairwells. And I've always managed to somehow shake it off and kick some demon ass." Dean grinned. "I am Batman."

Saint Peter nodded in understanding. "Ahh . . . yes, Batman, he was here last week. I'm afraid he's downstairs now."

Dean swallowed hard. _Damn, if Batman didn't make the list, I'm so screwed. _"Well, I lost one or both of my legs at least 1,023 times, and still kept on hunting. You know, fight the good fight an' all." A weak chuckle slipped past his lips, and died away when Peter raised a brow in displeasure.

"Is that all?" The angel said, boredom edging his tone. He tapped at his watch impatiently, and then pointed toward a line of people now forming behind Dean. "Because I'm afraid – "

"No, there's more," Dean hastily cut him off. "I've lost my eyesight 22,345 times, and still never missed a single shot with my .45."

"Impressive, but definitely not the kind of thing that gets you through those gates."

Fear racing up and down the ridge of his spine, Dean began to pace as he tried to figure out the one thing that would get him into Heaven. "I've lost my memory more times than I can remember, and have been locked up in at least 1,654 nut houses. And you know what?" He swung to stare at the angelic being. "For some damn reason every place I ever landed in always happened to have a whack job doctor who wanted to make me part of his experiments."

"I feel your pain . . . I really do, but – "

"Wait. I've got more." Dean held up his hands to stop the angel from pushing the giant red button that suddenly appeared on his chair. "I've been in 30,234 car wrecks . . . and I was the driver in only 921 of them." He smirked. "It's why I don't let Sam drive all that often."

"Huh, most people go through their whole lives only having one or two car accidents. This doesn't look good for you." He placed his hand over the button and gently tapped it with his finger.

"Ummm . . . I've been stabbed 24,123 times . . . shot 9,256 times . . . branded at least once that I can clearly recall."

Saint Peter covered his mouth and yawned. "If this is the best you have, I'm afraid you're wasting your time and mine."

Not about to give up, Dean blurted out, "I've been abducted and tortured in ways you can't even begin to imagine 3,999 times. I've dug my way out of Hell 874 times. I've turned evil 1,276 times, and somehow managed to fight my way back. Hell, I've even fought the Wicked Witch of the West . . . now that was freakin' awesome." A genuine smile lit across Dean's features as he recalled meeting his all-time favorite villain. "Damn, she had the coolest lines ever. I'll get you my pretty an' your . . . ."Dean's voice trailed off abruptly as the frown deepened on Saint Peter's face. "No, I guess you wouldn't be a fan, would you?"

"No, I can't say that I am."

"She's probably downstairs, right?"

"How'd you know?" Saint Peter replied with his finger wavering over the button.

"Lucky guess." Dean groaned. _I'm so going to Hell. He's not gonna listen to anything I have to say. Damn, if Sammy were here, he would give him that puppy dog eye look thing he does, and the gates would swing wide open . . . Sammy . . . ._

Dean swallowed hard as the image of his brother fighting at his side came to mind. "I love my brother. He can be as annoying as all hell sometimes, but I would do anything to keep him safe. And no matter how many stories people write about me, that's the one thing that always remains the same. So, for no other reason than that, I'm asking you to let me go through those gates."

For the longest time Saint Peter remained silent as he studied Dean carefully and then he nodded. "It sure took you long enough to figure out what everyone else already seems to know." With a wave of his hand the Pearly Gates swung wide open for Dean to enter. "It's not all the scars received or demons you've killed along the way that makes you special, Dean. It's the unwavering love you have for your family that'll open any door you seek to enter."

"I'll have to remember that." Dean strode through the gates and entered Heaven, calling back over his shoulder, "By the way, I think there are 10,265 people planning on killing Sammy off within the next few chapters of their stories . . . so you might need a new quill and tons of paper."


End file.
